


The Sun Rose

by orphan_account



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bandit Damen, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy setting, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meta, Prisoner Laurent, Robin Hood AU, Sort Of, damen writes his own fanfic, hidden identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Riding through the wood, Prince Laurent is unexpectedly captured by bandits infesting the Veretian wood.  He must hide his identity, and discover the true purpose of the bandit leader, the skilful archer Damen, before he's found out.  He expects a fight, what he doesn't expect is to fall head over heels.  Robin Hood AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).



> A birthday gift for my salt-mate, Serra. I love you so much and I hope you're having a wonderful birthday.
> 
> This fic is going to be posted in three parts--it's almsot completely finished, I just have to put some final touches on the last two parts and they should be posted all by Tuesday. Two main chapters- and a slightly shorter epilogue. This is sort of a Robin Hood AU, but with canon elements. Hopefully it'll make sense xx

...you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,  
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;  
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,  
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.  
-Edna St Vincent Millay

***

“Sire, I really think…”

“You were not hired to accompany me to think,” Laurent snapped, turning his head slightly to the left to affix his glower to the Captain of his guard. Jord sighed quietly to himself, though he made no move to say another word as they pushed past the thick brush.

Laurent was no fool. He knew they’d lost the trail a ways back, and he knew the wood held danger. Bandits had been roaming freely, wreaking havoc on the Kyroi, stealing from the tax collectors who were on their way to the castle to make their deposits.

Secretly, Laurent couldn’t find it in him to blame the bandits. They were merely taking back what had been unfairly stolen from their country. His brother had been away, fighting a vicious war, and Laurent was not yet twenty-one, so not yet of age to take his brother’s place. His Uncle, a snake of a man, was treating the Kingdom like his own personal coiffure, and there was little Laurent could do to stop him.

He knew, being the prince, it was dangerous to ride with nothing more than a guard as they returned from the village ravaged by his uncle’s men. It was the most Laurent could do—secretly providing aide to those he could. It wasn’t much, but it was something. They were in disguise, of course—dressed more common, though Jord insisted Laurent could not act common if he tried. At worst they would think him noble. He was certain of it. And if he professed his loyalty to them, they might let them go.

Perhaps he would be forced to fight them, but he had been training, and felt good about his skills with his sword. Though him and Jord alone against a host of bandits…

A twig cracking in the distance had him on his guard, and he gripped the reigns of his horse tighter as he glanced round. His eyes narrowed, trained on the spaces between the trees, but he saw nothing.

And nothing is the last thing he saw, before the blow struck him to the back of the head, and everything went dark.

*** 

Laurent awoke aware of several things all at once. He was bound—hands and feet, and lying on something soft. The air round him was warm, and enclosed, meaning he was likely in a tent of some kind, but near a fire. His eyes were covered by a thick cloth, tied in a knot at the back of his head. And his head was pounding from the blow he’d taken.

When he tried to move, his limbs were sluggish, not just from the bindings, but also from whatever these people might have given him. Hope of fighting to escape drained from him as he realised that tied, injured, and drugged, he would be no match for anyone. He could only hope they did not have untoward intentions toward him, or at the very least, his death would be swift.

He thought of his brother, of no word from the Veretian front, and he thought perhaps maybe this was the end to his family’s line anyway.

His breath left him in a sigh, until a heavily accented voice said in Veretian, “You’re awake.” It was deep, gravelly in a very pleasant way which would have had Laurent shivering a little had the situation not been so dire. Instead he tensed, trying to turn his head toward the sound, though it left him hissing in pain.

“You were hit too hard,” the voice said. “Just rest. We’ve given you a tincture that should prevent any further damage, but you’ll need rest.”

“So I can be cognisant when you put the blade to my throat?” he hissed.

There was a pause, then a low chuckle. “You think us murderers?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be. You’ve knocked me out, stolen my things, taken me hostage. I don’t believe criminals like that are above murder.”

There was another tense pause, then the sound of someone shifting. Laurent was startled when he felt the warmth of a body next to him, then large hands pushing against his hair.

He ripped his head away, then cried out in pain, though he reigned it in as quickly as he could. “Do not touch me.”

The hands withdrew immediately, but the body stayed close. “I merely wanted to inspect your wounds. Paschal has gone to collect what he needs for his salves, and he won’t be back until midday tomorrow. I will be aggrieved if you die on my watch.”

“On your watch,” Laurent said, then took another breath to calm the fear in his limbs. “Take the blindfold off.”

No answer.

“At least let me sit up. This is most uncomfortable. I’ve been on a horse for days, and now I’m injured and bound.”

Again, no answer, but the hands returned and carefully eased him into a sit. He was reclined against a cushion, which behind lay something like a tent pole. He pushed his back against it, but it was too sturdy to be moved. He was trapped. He was clever, and strong, but for now the tincture kept his head fuzzy and his limbs weak.

“Who are you?”

“No one of importance,” the man said. “You, on the other hand…”

“Am just a merchant,” Laurent supplied.

The man laughed, gentle and unmocking, but still disbelieving. “Your hands tell a different story. They look noble.”

“That’s a compliment. So I shall say thank you.”

“It’s the truth. I’m no fool. You can only hide so much with common fabric.” The man sighed, tugging at Laurent’s sleeve, but he didn’t let his touch linger, for which Laurent was grateful.

“Why not just kill me and be done with it. I know what your kind do to those they believe are nobles.” Laurent’s voice was tense, daring, and part of his mind shouted at his mouth to just be quiet, but his mouth would never listen.

“We don’t kill for sport, or for pleasure,” the man said. There was a faint sigh, then large hands touching him. Laurent attempted not to flinch, but failed, and he felt the hands still, then shift again. They prod at his hairline, then at the back of his neck, and it took him a moment to realise they were working the knot on his blindfold.

It fell away after a moment, and the light from the oil lamps was so blinding, he couldn’t open his eyes more than a slit. Everything was a blur, and he blinked to try and clear them. He could make out the faint outline of a tent—well stocked, well furnished—and the figure of the man crouched a space away from him.

From what Laurent could see then, he was large. Much larger than most men Laurent knew. His skin was dark olive, his hair nearly black, and there was much skin exposed on his shoulders and thighs.

Laurent breathed through his panic, and tried not to stare as his vision cleared. “Why did you do that?”

“To prove to you we aren’t barbarians.”

“Says the giant of a man who knocked me out and kidnapped me,” Laurent all-but snapped.

“You were wandering straight into our fort,” the man said, his voice a little sharper than it had been before. He was annoyed, and Laurent knew that men who lost control of their temper also made mistakes. He was not ready to escape yet—even if he managed to get free of this man, he was in no condition to run. But if he could get under his skin… “The blow was meant to knock you down, not knock you out. The man who was charged with taking you off your horse is new.”

Laurent snorted. “New. A new recruit? To your team of criminals living in the wood?”

The man sighed. “We are people who oppose these laws. We oppose tyranny and unjust leadership. We wish to aid King Auguste until his return.”

Laurent stiffened, and he tried to keep his composure, but the drug in his system was making it difficult to maintain. “You…believe Auguste to be a good king, then?”

The man laughed, and his face—which was coming better into view—was soft and in that moment, beautiful. He was not Veretian, however. Perhaps Akielon, or Patran. His features gave much away, and it was confusing why he would be hiding in the forests of Vere.

“Why are you frowning?” he asked.

Laurent hesitated, then said, “I don’t know your name. Unless you want me to keep calling you Giant Barbarian in my head…”

The man smiled again, instead of taking insult. “You can call me Damen.”

“Damen,” Laurent repeated, and heard the way his accent distorted the sounds from the way Damen himself had said it. “You’re not Veretian.”

“I am from Ios,” Damen said simply.

“And you’ve involved yourself in Veretian politics because…”

“As I said, I do not agree with tyranny. If King Theomedes has put a ban on Veretian aid, I must help however I can.”

Laurent raised both brows this time. “By kidnapping and murdering the nobles?”

Damen laughed. “You’re still so afraid.” He sighed, then touched the side of Laurent’s head where it ached the most. “No one is going to kill you.”

Laurent did not think that entirely true. At the very least, once they learnt his true identity, they would use him for leverage. Little did they know that killing him would only secure his uncle’s place on the throne. And little did they know how clever his uncle was, and what tactics they might use to ensure Laurent was murdered.

He breathed out, shaky. “I am not afraid. I am drugged, and I am injured. I have been taken against my will—unfairly, without being given the chance to fight honourably…” He knew the Akielons prided honour above all else, and he was Veretian enough to exploit that in an attempt to be set loose.

Damen’s face dipped into a frown. “We can discuss this later. I will see to Paschal, bring you more medication for your head, and something to eat.”

“Are you a slave here?”

Damen stared at him. Hard. “The Akielons haven’t kept slaves in centuries, and the Veretians never have.”

“You seem too large a man to be given such menial tasks as tending to the injured prisoner,” Laurent said sweetly, falsely.

Damen’s face softened again, but there was a hardness to his eyes, as though he saw precisely what Laurent was doing. “Only a lesser person would find tending to those who cannot tend to themselves a menial task. Rest well. I will be back soon.”

There was little Laurent could do except lay his head back against the pillar and wait.

*** 

He woke with a phial pressed to his lips, and he was too discombobulated to fight it. It was only as the bitter mixture was pouring down his throat that he realised he was being drugged again. His fatigue kept him from being able to sick it up, and though logic told him they weren’t doing this to keep him docile, his brain was fighting against the fog.

Laurent coughed, then pushed himself up and realised he was unbound. His limbs, still heavy, supported his weight on a thick palette which was lying near the edge of the tent. He blinked, and saw Damen’s hulking figure on his knees, sat near a low table fussing with something on a tray.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said. “Paschal said you shouldn’t have anything too solid. The blow to your head made your stomach weak, but there’s bread here. Do you need assistance.”

“I have been able to feed myself since I was a toddler, than you,” Laurent snapped, taking the tray from Damen’s hands. He grit his teeth and tried to keep his arms from shaking as he lowered the tray to the tops of his thighs.

His entire body ached, shivering almost like he was sick with infection, and he hoped that was not the case. He supposed it was whatever herbs they were feeding him, but all the same, he pressed the inside of his wrist to his forehead as his other hand gripped his spoon.

After a beat, Damen sighed and shuffled toward him. “It’s impossible to tell if you’ve got a fever that way. Here, let me…” He pushed Laurent’s hand out of the way and pressed the cool inside of his wrist to the centre of Laurent’s forehead. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. Paschal said the injury will make you feel weak, but there was only a small gash which was given a salve straight away.”

Laurent stared at him—at the cut of his jaw, the long, sharp nose, the almost regal way he held his shoulders. He seemed more than a bandit, but Laurent couldn’t put his finger on why. Instead of letting his foggy head try and work it out, he took up some of the soup and found it pleasant. Spicy and creamy, with bits of veg and some sort of doughy substance. It filled him up, so even the bread seemed unnecessary.

“When do you plan to tell me what you want with me? And where is Jord? The man I was riding with?”

Damen shrugged, sitting back with his shoulder a little too close to Laurent for comfort. “He’s likely tending the horses now.”

“So he is unbound?”

Damen snorted. “I told you, we’re not in the business of cruelty. We explained to him what we meant to do. He does not seem a friend of the Regent. He is loyal to the second born prince, and the rightful King of Vere, however.”

Laurent made a considering noise. He knew this, of course. And it would far too easy to win Jord’s loyalty with fierce words against Laurent’s uncle. That worried him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust these people—they’d so far give him no reason to believe they were up to anything other than trying to undermine the Regent. But they’d also given him no reason to believe they weren’t secretly working for Akielos to claim Arles as Akielon territory in the absence of Auguste.

The whole thing was too convoluted for his drugged mind. “I wish to stop taking the tincture,” Laurent said, the fog hitting him harder than it had before.

Damen blinked at him. “It’s mainly for the pain. Surely you don’t wish to feel that.”

Laurent wrinkled his nose, feeling a little too loose with his tongue. He breathed through his worry, then said, “I would prefer pain to not being able to think.”

Damen gave him a long, considering look, then nodded. “Perhaps I can see if Paschal has something else for you that won’t make you feel so…helpless.”

“I am never helpless,” Laurent said, his tongue a little too free. “I have never been helpless.”

Damen chuckled quietly, reaching out to ease Laurent back down to his pillows. He fought it for a moment, but realised it was pointless, and truly, he _was_ tired. His eyes were heavy and sore. “I don’t believe you are helpless. Also when you wake, I should like to know your name. Your companion Jord seems keen to protect your identity, but I can’t keep calling you the Blond Angel in my head, now can I?”

Laurent wished to retort, to tell Damen he was no one’s angel. Or perhaps to tell him that Damen, himself, looked like one of the ancient gods—the beautiful ones sent to earth to protect man. His only saving grace was the herbs, now stilling his tongue, and easing him into sleep.

*** 

It was morning before Laurent woke again. His bladder was achingly full, and his head pounded, but he could move more freely and he’d not been drugged again. Pushing up, he found a chamber pot in the corner of the tent, and had just finished relieving himself before the tent flap pushed aside and another man walked in.

Laurent didn’t recognise him, but he was older, greyer, had the face shape of a Veretian and was giving Laurent a very keen look.

It took only a moment to realise he was recognised. “I know you,” he said.

The man bowed, then closed the flap of the tent securely. “I tended you after a fall off your horse when you were a very young boy. Your brother had challenged you to a race.”

Laurent noticed the distinct lack of royal formalities, which meant this man—for whatever reason—was keeping his secret. For the moment. “Have you known this whole time?”

The man nodded. “I am Paschal. I was a court physician but the Regent convinced the King to dismiss me. It was long before Auguste took the crown.”

The memories were vague, but they were coming stronger now. “Does anyone else know?”

Paschal shook his head. “It seemed safer. I know you do not support your uncle, and in that hope I like to believe you will not reveal our location once you’re released.”

“So we are being released?” Laurent demanded.

Paschal let out a breath. “I am trying to convince Damen to release you before word spreads that you are missing. Your uncle might be happy about your demise, should it occur, but he cannot appear to do nothing. People were start to realise the prince is missing. It’ll be easy to put it together.”

Laurent dragged a hand down his face, then winced at the ache in his head. “Will Damen wish to use me for negotiations?”

Paschal laughed, seemingly unable to help himself. “He would not. But there are others in the camp who are not as honourable as he is.”

“An Akielon,” Laurent breathed, shaking his head. “Why would he help?”

“There is more than just him from Akielos. Some from Patras, some from Vask. Most from the villages here in Vere.” Paschal sat back, crossing his arms.

Laurent worried his bottom lip between his teeth, then said, “I will need a disguise if I’m to survive amongst disgruntled Veretians until this Damen can make up his mind about what to do with me.”

Paschal nodded. “I will examine you, and then I believe he’s to come in and…”

“Decide my fate?” Laurent asked.

Paschal said nothing, merely rose, and began his work.

*** 

Laurent was declared in the best health he could be, and though he was still confined to the tent, he was given breads, some cured meats, and cheese to help himself to as he waited. Damen—who appeared to be the leader of the bandits, did not appear for some time.

When he finally pushed through the opening to the tent, the sight of him startled Laurent out of his mood. He was dressed in Veretian clothing—long sleeves, trousers, a forest green cape pinned to his shoulders. His hair was in disarray, his curls stuck with twigs and leaves making him look the part of a forest sprite.

He was grinning, removing a bow and quiver from his shoulder, and he placed it against a support beam before reaching for the pins on the cape and setting that aside. “You look better,” he said. His accent was more pronounced, but Laurent thought that was likely from the fact that his head was clear, and he could hear it now. The gruff edges of Akielon.

“The pain is tolerable,” Laurent said simply, and that was true enough. Paschal had given him something mild that did not impede his ability to think. During the afternoon, he had considered several escape options, but he was certain by the size of the camp—he could only estimate from the sounds beyond the tent walls—he would not get far.

His release would have to be either negotiated, or freely given.

He tried not to stare at Damen’s chest which strained against the delicate Veretian laces of the jacket as Damen lowered himself into one of the chairs. “Paschal said you were asking about your release.”

Laurent licked his lips. He was certain Damen didn’t know of his identity. If that had been the case, Damen surely would have confronted him by now. So he would have to play this a different way. “I am not as influential as you think I am. Using me as a negotiation tool against any noble would be fruitless.”

“I had come to that conclusion,” Damen said mildly. He reached for a cluster of grapes, and popped a few in his mouth, his brow furrowed with consideration as he chewed. “I don’t know much about you, but from the way your companion speaks, I am inclined to believe you are working against the Regent.”

Laurent thought carefully, then said, “I do what I can.”

“As we all do,” Damen replied, and Laurent vaguely remembered their first conversation, about the reasons Damen had come. “I think you have a very keen mind, and frankly I could use someone with intimate knowledge of the forts. My maps are, sadly, outdated, and there are few I can trust to update them.”

Laurent hesitated. Giving the information of Veretian forts into the hand of an Akielon seemed a foolish thing to agree to. And yet, there was sincerity in Damen’s tone. Perhaps this Akielon had no reason to show loyalty to his king.

He crossed the room and sat. “Do you know King Theomedes?”

Damen gave him a long, considering look. “We have met.”

“And the crown prince? Damianos?” Laurent pushed.

Damen blinked, then said, “I would say I know him a little bit better than the king.”

Laurent hummed. “How can you prove to me that you’re not simply using these bandits to gain foothold in Vere for Akielos.”

“Because the Regent is weak, and his army is weak, and if Akielos wanted to conquer Vere, it would have done so at Marlas. We took Delpha…”

“Delfur,” Laurent corrected.

Damen merely smiled. “It was all we wanted.” He ripped a chunk of bread with his teeth, showing his lack of manners, and Laurent fought back a sigh. “It was our first.”

Laurent opened his mouth to argue, but realised he could easily give his position away like this. So instead he shrugged and reached for a bit of cheese, taking a delicate bite as though to show this Akielon how it’s done. He watched Damen’s mouth quirk into an amused smirk before he bit off more bread.

“We are trying to undermine the Regent financially. We cannot control the royal coiffure, but we can control the finances to and from Arles. If we cut off his supply, his military will weaken. If we create small uprisings in villages, then his resources will be strained trying to put out small fires.”

“That will put innocent villagers at risk,” Laurent said a little sharply. “You cannot ask them to give their lives for the greater good.”

Damen gave him a more considering look. “We offer our own protection. We are larger than just this camp. We do not expect anyone to die for us.”

“Even the nobles,” Laurent pointed out.

Damen let out a sigh, clasping his hands on the table. “Those are rumours we started, to shake the foundations and cause discord between the nobles that might consider siding with the Regent. If they fear showing open support will get them attacked—if they fear rumours of missing nobles to be true, the Regent’s allies will fracture further.”

It was clever. It was something Laurent might have done, had he considered banding something together like Damen had. “And you care so much about Veretians you would betray your people to come here and save us from ourselves.”

Damen licked his lips, then said, “Honour is important to me. King Theomedes acted without honour when Vere asked for aid. The King of Akielos knows what is happening is wrong, but his prejudices would see Vere burn itself to the ground before offering to help.”

“And the crown prince Damianos?” Laurent pushed.

Damen gave him a look Laurent could not read. “The prince does not agree, but for the moment his hands are tied against his father. They will not be always, so he shows support in ways he can.”

“Like sending his guard here?” Laurent said, and felt a sort of triumph, because by then it was easy to figure out. His closeness with the King and the Prince. This was a man from Damianos’ inner guard. “He must trust you a great deal.”

Damen pursed his lips. “Damianos is very particular about his trust, so those who have it are usually honoured.”

It was a non-answer, but for the moment, Laurent believed his motivations were true. At the very least, he could stall his Uncle’s slow take-over of Vere until Auguste returned. And should the worst happen, the worst Laurent was still refusing to consider, then he would have to step up. And the weaker his uncle was, the easier it would be for Laurent to step in.

If Damen was lying, and Akielos was merely waiting, well…Laurent would just deal with that in time.

It was a risk worth taking.

He stared at Damen, then said, “I will help you. But there are those here who might recognise me and believe they can use me for their own gain. I will need a disguise.”

Damen’s face broke into another soft smile, the sort that made Laurent’s heart pound, though he fully intended to ignore it. “That we can do. And you should be trained on a weapon in case of attack.”

“Does that happen often?” Laurent asked mildly.

Damen shrugged. “Often enough most men should know how to defend themselves.”

Laurent looked him up and down—at his large muscles, his lithe form. He was bulky, but likely more flexible and agile than he first appeared. That was something that would work to Damen’s advantage. “I might surprise you in what I know,” he said finally. “But I should like a new skill. What do you prefer?”

Damen chuckled, then nodded toward the weapon he’d left. “The bow and arrow.”

Laurent nodded then, firmly, and crossed his arms. “Then I should like you to teach me that.” One thing he’d learnt from Auguste—always be able to match your opponent at what they did best. So Laurent would have to be just as clever, just as strong, and just as versatile. They didn’t have much time, but he had a feeling it would be enough.

And the way Damen was grinning at him now, he thought perhaps he could use the guard’s eagerness to his advantage.

He hadn’t found a way out, but he was getting closer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to take a smidge longer because I am a FILTHY LIAR and I've added a fourth chapter, but I still plan to have it sorted by the end of the week. Also my other CP fic should update in the next few days as well. xx
> 
> Please be warned this chapter contains a scene with hunting a deer, and mentions of blood though not in graphic detail. If this is difficult for you, skip ahead to the food tent when Damen takes Laurent hunting.
> 
> I have practised archery exactly one time as a child, so please take everything I say with both a grain of salt and vague memories of failing to hit targets at my practise.

Archery was a specialised weaponry in Arles. Only the most skilled attempted it, and it was but a small fraction of their troops, usually the first wave before the swords took their place. It was not something Laurent ever bothered himself with. It was not something he ever thought would be necessary. He and his brother would play at swords for hours, until play became real skill, and Laurent could rival the best swordsmen in the Empire.

Now, he felt as helpless as a child picking up a staff for the first time. He was profoundly aware of Damen’s eyes on him as he took up the stance the guard had previously showed him. The bow felt heavy and awkward in his hands, his fingers clumsy as he nocked the arrow, then squinted at the target.

He had no prayer—no hope—of hitting anywhere near it. His arms shook with the effort, and for a moment he recalled their archers doing this—over and over, and over again and he wondered how long it had taken them to perfect it. Because at this rate, the war would end and Auguste would be home before he managed a single bullseye.

All the same, Laurent had no plans of giving up. He breathed, loosed the arrow, and watched it fly.

As predicted, it missed the mark, falling short and landing in the dirt several feet from the target. He felt his cheeks flush, and a sudden desire to blame it on his head-injury instead of his lack of skill. He turned toward Damen, expecting to see mocking, but instead the bandit approached and reached his hands out carefully.

“May I?”

“May you what?” Laurent snapped. He sucked in his breath when Damen tucked himself behind Laurent, all hard muscle of his front pressed to the prince’s back. His hands dug into Laurent’s hips, adjusting his stance slightly, then trailed to his elbows.

“Raise the bow,” Damen instructed softly. “Draw another arrow.”

Laurent reached to his side where the arrows were stuck in the dirt, point down, and drew up another. He nocked it, then felt Damen’s hands, certain and steady, on his arms, holding him tight. “I…”

“Tighten your grip here. Line up your shot,” he murmured, soft in Laurent’s ear. “You’re putting tension here, when it should be here,” Damen said, distracting Laurent with the feel of his fingers travelling up the length of his arm. “Perfect. There. Now, when you feel ready, loose the arrow.”

Laurent did not feel ready, but he could see the centre of the target, and he did as instructed.

It didn’t go anywhere near the centre, but it hit the target on the outer edge, and he heard Damen let out a soft laugh, still too close to his ear. “Beautiful,” he said.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Far from it. It was a pathetic shot. I’m trying again.”

*** 

Damen forced him to give up nearly an hour later, insisting he would be in too much pain the next day to practise if he pushed himself. Laurent wanted to argue, but he had learnt that lesson long ago, and relinquished his bow to Damen.

They walked back to camp, Laurent keenly aware of the passers by who watched him, keenly aware of how flimsy his disguise was with the knitted hat, and the clothes. But Laurent supposed that he wouldn’t be too recognisable by most of these people—who had never been to the capital, who might have seen him only from afar as he stood by his father or brother’s side from a balcony. He was not meant to rule, his image did not adorn coin or poster.

For now, his identity was safe. He had assumed the name Roland—something he’d conjured up from old family history, and something common enough it would not draw attention. When Damen first used it, it felt strange to hear it, but it had been a few days now and he was growing accustomed.

When Laurent was finally permitted to leave Damen’s tent, he expected to immediately come upon Jord, but his guard had been given a task with another man Damen referred to as Nikandros. The name was familiar—the same name of the man who had been awarded Kyros of Delpha—but he could not assume a man of such high stature would be working with bandits. They had been tasked to find the location of a small mercenary group who had raided several towns for gold. Once their path had been mapped, Damen said they would send out men to intercept the money, which would be used to help other towns which were struggling with starvation as the Regent squeezed them dry.

Laurent swallowed that all down, along with his rage at his uncle, and lifted another prayer to the heavens that his brother would return, and all of this could finally end.

He spent his time trying to temper his accent down so he sounded like a person from the village, and learn everything there was to know. At night he spent with Damen on the maps, showing hidden trade routes, and paths through uncharted forest that his father had used to gain the upper hand in older wars.

He had been there only a few days, but he found it easy to slip amongst the crowd. Meals were served out of massive pots cooked over open fires, and eaten in small groups sat on the ground with their backs to the trees. The bandit camp blended seamlessly into the wood itself, which Laurent found impressive—though perhaps slightly threatening as it managed to camouflage how large they truly were. There was an arsenal of weapons, and at least a hundred trained men and women in the camp itself, with hints of more settled further north.

Laurent glanced up at Damen who had a thoughtful expression, then finally asked, “Was it truly that terrible? My skill?”

Damen looked surprised, then laughed. “No, not at all. You have promise.”

Laurent hummed, not sure he would agree with Damen there, and not sure there was a point. He doubted he’d have the time to truly master the skill before it all came to a head. Paschal knew who he was, as did Jord. It was only a matter of time before he either escaped, or he was found out. Damen seemed set on not harming nobles, but Laurent couldn’t be sure that would extend to the nephew of the Regent.

Leverage was leverage, and war was war.

It was as simple as that.

“I believe your friend Jord is returning tonight,” Damen said as he held back the flap to the weapons tent. Laurent stepped in, and watched Damen’s broad shoulders flex under his thin, white shirt. He set the quiver and bows down, then turned to him. “I was thinking we could hunt.”

Laurent blinked at him. “Hunt.”

Damen chuckled. “Yes. Where you take a bow and arrow, and you shoot and animal for the night’s supper and…”

“I know the purpose of hunting,” Laurent said mildly. “I have, in fact, participated before. Though I’m sure that surprises you…”

“It doesn’t,” Damen said, then shrugged. “You’re very agile.”

The sweep of his eyes over Laurent’s form had him blushing, and he glanced away as Damen loaded a larger quiver full of arrows that were cut to take down larger game. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damen slide a knife into his belt, and he realised it was for carving. He added several burlap sacks, and then pinned his green cloak to his shoulders before pulling his hood up.

“I don’t think I’d be much help on this hunt,” Laurent admitted. “I could barely hit the edge of the target.”

“I expect you to hit nothing, so if you do graze something, it’s an accomplishment. If you don’t,” Damen shrugged easily as he beckoned Laurent along, “then you’ve met my expectations.”

Laurent wanted to snarl at him, insist that Damen should not write him off so quickly. That he shouldn’t drop his guard. But that would get him nowhere close to being really trusted, which was the only way Laurent was going to get the upper hand on his uncle.

So he said nothing, biting the inside of his cheek as he and Damen quietly made their way into the thicker wood.

Laurent was surprised, as they tracked what Damen was convinced were two larger buck, at how quiet the huge man could be. For his size, he moved like water through the trees and brush, and it gave credence to his fantasy that Damen truly was a woodland spirit. It made something twist in his gut, not unpleasantly, really, though new and a little confusing. It was easier to ignore it, and even easier still to shimmy up a tree Damen spotted, which would be perfect for shooting.

The branches were spaced apart, thick enough to hold their weight, and the trunk steady enough so they could aim. Damen passed off the second bow to Laurent, then nocked his own arrow as he peered through the brush.

“We only need one,” Damen said. “So let’s assess them before we fire.”

Laurent nodded, knowing he’d make no difference in this hunt as it was, but he wanted to show he was listening. He thumbed the wooden side of the arrow, and his eyes narrowed when he saw movement ahead.

It took several, agonisingly long moments, but eventually Damen was proven right. Two young, but large buck pushed through the brush and began the slow trot, foraging for their afternoon meal. Laurent shifted minutely, and Damen held up a hand, then leant in to speak in a voice so small, Laurent had to strain to hear it.

“The one on the left. It will provide the most meat, and it’s older so the other can repopulate longer.”

Laurent would have never considered anything like that. But he followed Damen’s lead, nocked his arrow a second time, then aimed.

Damen fired first, and his shot was true. The buck fell, and Laurent let his go on instinct more than purpose, and his arrow imbedded into a tree to the right of the buck. The other fled quickly, and Damen smiled as he clapped Laurent on the shoulder.

“Now to prepare it for the journey back.” He slid from the branch, and was on the ground before Laurent could move.

Now alone in the tree, Laurent felt precarious, clumsy, in a way he was unused to. He didn’t like it. He did not like the way his hands shook, and his feet failed to make purchase. He didn’t’ like feeling unsteady. And perhaps it was nerve that caused him to miscalculate his grasp, but suddenly where there was thick bark beneath his hands, there was nothing but air.

The fall took him by surprise, and he managed half a yelp before he fell onto something. He braced himself for the pain of impact, for breaking bones. Instead he found himself pressed on all sides by thick, warm muscle.

Laurent was gasping as he looked up, and saw Damen’s dark eyes narrow, his mouth in a concerned grimace. His grip was tight on Laurent, even as he eased him to the ground, he did not let go. “You nearly hit the ground,” he murmured.

Laurent was profoundly aware of how close they were, of the feel of Damen’s chest against his own. He longed to press forward, and he longed to step back. “I…” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you. For saving my life. Again, it seems.”

Damen blinked, then very, very slowly, withdrew his arms. Laurent’s step was still shaky, but his legs supported his weight as he took a step back. “We should…ah…” He nodded toward the deer, and wordlessly, Laurent nodded, and followed along.

*** 

Laurent had been entirely unsure what to expect about preparing the deer. In hindsight, he should have expected the amount of blood, or the amount of…stuff. But he didn’t think until he was suddenly in it, and he didn’t protest when Damen eventually took pity on him and sent him through a grove of trees to wash up and clean the knife as he packed everything up in their sacks.

Laurent used the space to gather himself, frustrated that he was so shaken by something so simple as a dead animal. He’d seen worse in battle, but this was a moment of peace.

He was composed by the time he reached Damen, and everything was so tidy there was hardly evidence the deer existed anymore apart from the bulging sacks on Damen’s back. Laurent wordlessly took up their weapons, and it was just before they reached camp that he spoke again.

“That…is an unpleasant smell,” he said.

Damen chuckled quietly. “If you don’t want to give yourself away, I suggest you not say that in front of the others.”

Laurent rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same, because it was true. He sighed, then as they pushed toward camp, he thought about his fall again. About the way Damen had caught him. The feel of him…so close. “Thank you again,” he said after a moment. “For catching me. You seem to be in the business of saving my life.”

“What can I say. I’ve grown used to you,” Damen said, and elbowed him lightly.

Laurent felt his cheeks heat up with a flush. “I…” He shook his head, then tried again. “Used to me. In only three days?”

Damen’s smile merely widened and he pushed along until they reached camp.

Laurent fully expected to hand the meat off, then clean up whilst others took over the prepping for supper. Instead he was dragged into the food tent which was suspiciously empty for so late in the afternoon, and Damen quickly got him to work on prepping a large pot of stew.

He was, thankfully, spared most of the messier work with the slain deer, but even with the vegetables, he struggled until Damen fitted himself directly behind Laurent, a hand delicately on his wrist as Laurent gripped the knife. “If you do it like that, you’ll blister your palm and strain your wrist,” Damen said, almost directly in his ear, making him shiver. “You have to train these delicate, noble’s hands.”

“They’re not,” Laurent started, but broke off, breathy and soft as Damen showed him how to all-but roll the knife through the root vegetables so they sliced even.

Though Damen didn’t move back, Laurent tried a few on his own, and was rewarded with one of Damen’s large hands gripping his hip and squeezing. “Again, perfect.”

“I don’t,” Laurent began, but Damen cut him off with another squeeze of his fingers.

“Learn to take a compliment, Roland. I have a feeling wherever you come from, your gifts are not praised enough. And they are praise worthy. Even at what you might consider menial tasks, you learn quick, and efficient. You are an asset to this camp.”

The words hit Laurent like a physical blow, and it took every ounce of his self-control to compartmentalise the feelings which rushed through him like a tidal-wave. He was hanging on by a thread when Damen finally tipped everything into a giant, boiling pot of broth and declared them done for the evening.

“We can meet back for supper,” Damen said. “I must meet with Nikandros, and if you like, you can wash up at the stream and Jord will likely be in our tent waiting for you.”

Laurent nodded, then hurried off, fighting the urge to immediately find Jord in favour of looking more himself. He pushed all thoughts of Damen or his words from his mind as he hurried to the stream, and he stripped down to his under-things, and washed the smells of the afternoon, the hunt, and the evening meal from his skin. He desperately missed the palace baths—the soft, perfumed soaps and heated stone tubs—but this felt well enough, and he felt more himself by the time he re-dressed and set off to meet Jord.

*** 

Laurent reached the tent, and he felt a visceral relief over a worry he hadn’t been acknowledging the moment he set eyes on Jord. He abandoned all pretence and station as he crossed the room, and laid hands on his shoulders.

“You’re alive,” he said, and was profoundly aware he’d been worried about Jord’s safety this entire time. “You’re unharmed.”

Jord nodded, a little put-off from the stoic prince’s sudden behaviour, but all the same, he put a hand over Laurent’s and squeezed before stepping back. “I…” He shrugged and looked over Laurent’s shoulder. “Things have been strange since we arrived. Not what…not what I expected.”

Laurent was now aware that Jord was not using his title, which was wise. “I must agree. I have…had a few revelations on how to use this to our advantage.”

“They are working against The Regent,” Jord said carefully. “Wouldn’t you consider that to our advantage as a whole.”

“If we are to trust the Akielons.” Laurent saw a blush colour Jord’s cheeks, and he recognised the expression immediately. It was not dissimilar to the flush on Auguste’s cheeks the moment he set eyes on Kashel. He had become involved. “Nikandros, is it?”

Jord glanced away, ashamed, but he nodded. “They aren’t what we’ve been told to believe.”

“And this Nikandros. Is he truly the Kyros of Delpha?” The Akielon word for the stolen land was stilted on Laurent’s tongue, but he used it all the same.

“I believe he is. There are others in Akielos who side with him.”

“The Prince Damianos,” Laurent said, and Jord was quick to nod.

“Nikandros doesn’t speak of him often, but assures me that there are those in the royal Akielon house who would see The Regent put in his place, and Auguste returned to his throne, and peace restored. War would ravage their villages and their economy as much as it would Vere.”

Laurent wanted to cling to his beliefs that the Akielons could not be trusted, that they were only using Vere’s weakness to gain a foothold for themselves. But he could not shake the sincerity in Damen’s face or his tone. He could not forget the way he wished to help him, to train him.

Damen was to honest. So honest, it was almost brutal.

“This Damen—do you know much about him?” Laurent asked. “He is very quiet about who he is, but he spotted my nobility as much as I tried to disguise it. He seems keen on hiding it for now, but I don’t know that I should trust him.”

Jord shook his head. “I’m sorry my…I’m sorry er…”

“Roland,” Laurent supplied. “A family name.”

Jord looked startled, but nodded. “Roland. Nikandros closely guards the same secret, but I do not think it’s out of malice or dishonesty. I think perhaps he is closer to the royal family than is proper for him to be here. He disappears a lot, for weeks at a time, returns with gold he’s stolen from the road. Distributes it to towns that The Regent has torn apart.”

“Steals from the rich,” Laurent mused, his lip quirking. “And he thinks this makes him a lesser criminal.”

“We have done no better or worse,” Jord pointed out, and Laurent couldn’t help his wince.

“They will eventually learn who I am, and we must have a contingency plan for that. But…as time passes, I’m more and more willing to offer my allegiance, provided they truly wish to displace The Regent and hold the throne until Auguste’s return.” He could not will himself to repeat rumours that Auguste would not be returning from the war at all.

Jord nodded. “I am with you. Whatever you decide.” And there was also honesty in those words.

*** 

Laurent rested for some time after Jord left, but eventually Damen poked his head in the tent and beckoned him along. “You should reap the rewards of our hunt along with everyone else. I’ve got us a nice place by the fire.”

Laurent felt himself hot with a blush, but allowed Damen to lead the way, to push a bowl of the hot stew into his hands, a chunk of bread, a small tankard of ale. There was a spot far enough away from the common fires that it was like a blanket of warmth instead of the oppressive heat. Their backs were to a fallen tree trunk, and they were all-but shoulder to shoulder as they ate.

The stew was good. Not the quality of food Laurent was used to in the Capital, but he could taste the hard work in it, and he even found himself smiling up at Damen who was watching him with eyes soft, glimmering from the dancing flames.

“A bandit’s life for you now, is it?” he teased.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Surely you know I don’t belong here, Damen. This is all well and good—to help until the rightful ruler of Vere is returned. But I’m not…I don’t have skill that would truly benefit these people in the long run.”

Damen hummed, a considering sound, then said, “Perhaps you are right. A keen mind like yours would be a waste here, especially when it’s over and these people go back to their more simple lives. But maybe you will return to your home knowing that it isn’t at all what you believed.”

“I am,” Laurent said, pausing to smile as he looked down in his bowl, “starting to understand that. Yes.”

Damen’s grin was wide, brilliant. “I had hoped.”

Laurent licked his lips, then said, “And you? When you return to your rightful place. You have…a wife, I assume.”

Damen swallowed thickly, then said, “Ah. No. I was…there was a time I thought to marry but she…” He stopped, staring at the fire, a look on his face Laurent deeply regretted putting there. “It was better, in the end, that I understood who she was. It saved me from perhaps the worst sort of heartbreak.”

“I am sorry.”

Damen shook his head, then cleared his throat and tried for another smile. It fell short, but was no less gorgeous than his others. “And you, Roland?”

“A wife?” he asked, and almost laughed as he shook his own head. “No I’ve never…that has never been my…inclination. But I have an elder brother so who I marry has always been of no consequence.”

Damen blinked at him, then shifted minutely closer. “In Akielos, it isn’t as much of a matter as other lands. They worry about bastard sons inheriting land, money, or title. They accept non-biological heirs more often.”

“And yet, Kastor was displaced by the birth of his legitimate brother,” Laurent pointed out. “And his attempt to usurp the throne was thwarted and ended in bloodshed.”

Damen looked down at his bowl, a line in his jaw tight. “Damianos and Theomedes both attempted to reason with him. He could not be reasoned with. Not taking the throne should not have been the end of the world for him. It didn’t have to be.”

It sounded personal, and if Laurent’s guess was correct and he was a guard in Damianos’ inner circle, Laurent could understand why the issue was close to Damen’s heart. “Sometimes even family make foolish decisions. Let their quest for power corrupt.” This was too close to his heart, and he had to stop before his emotions got the better of him and he made a mistake. “All the same, I suppose I’ll never marry.”

Damen blinked. “Why is that?”

“I am…difficult to love,” Laurent said with a simple shrug. “I am contrary, as I’m sure you’ve seen, and my tongue is rarely soft. I would not wish to marry for convenience, but marrying for love when you are a person like me…”

“A person like you,” Damen echoed, and reached out, abandoning his bowl in favour of brushing a lock of hair free of Laurent’s forehead. “You are beautiful, and I think you know that. You are clever and I _know_ you know that. You care for animals, and those who have earnt your trust. You can be soft, I have seen it. And I think you would be very soft, in the quieter, more private moments, for the right person.”

“Damen,” Laurent breathed, and realised then just how close they were, just how Damen’s head had tipped toward his own, the way Damen hadn’t removed his hand, but instead had cupped his jaw. He wanted to pull away, but he had never been talked to in such a manner. How had it been barely three days, and already he was willing to shed everything he’d worked so hard for. And perhaps he wanted to marry for love, but an Akielon guard to the prince…

Damen could have kissed him. Perhaps in other circumstances would have. But he seemed to sense the problem in it, and he instead withdrew his fingers, a slow drag, and left Laurent shivering, grateful, and wanting more.

Late that night, Laurent lay on his palette, stared at the roof of the tent, and listened to Damen’s breath as he waited for dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there. My plan is to have this finished by tomorrow. x

“Roland.”

Startled, Laurent stood up straight and turned round. To his surprise, Damen was there, looking a little road-weary and like perhaps he hadn’t seen the shallow side of a stream in a few days, but otherwise unharmed. He’d been gone, called back to Akielos for a time, and Laurent had been in the camp doing his best to work on his archery skills, but mainly trying to keep busy and keep from worrying.

He spent most of his nights at the maps, drawing them out so when Damen returned, they would be as complete as he could get them, and he’d just finished the last when he’d gone to the river to wash.

He stood there now, in slightly damp trousers, no shirt, feeling wholly exposed and feeling himself flush from his cheeks down to his chest. Damen was looking at him, his hood on his cape pulled over his curls, but a stream of light played across his skin, making his eyes shine bright and rich brown.

“I was,” Laurent began, then gestured to his shirt before rushing to pick it up. “I didn’t realise you were coming back so soon.” That was a lie. Laurent had been doing nothing more than hoping, and these few days had felt like an eternity.

“I was only needed for a moment,” Damen said, then crossed the distance between them as Laurent began to fuss with the laces. His fingers were trembling, and he took in a startled breath when Damen brushed his hands away and began to thread and tie them. “I saw the maps,” he said after a moment, his voice very soft, strangely soothing. “They look…” He blinked up at Laurent. “They’re perfect.”

Laurent’s blush grew deeper, but he merely gave a stiff nod. “It was part of the agreement, and I try to be thorough when I can.”

“They’ll be a lot of help. I want to cross-reference them with the tax routes Nikandros and Jord have managed to find, and see if we can get the upper hand on another village raid.”

Laurent bit his lip, then said, “I think the three of you will do well.”

Damen scoffed gently. “Four of us, possibly more, depending on the men who might be collecting. It’s time for you to try out your skill, Roland.”

Laurent licked his lips. “I’m…uncertain my skill is honed enough that I would be an assent.”

Damen looked at him a long time, then said with determination, “I am not.”

*** 

It was how Laurent found himself crouched by the side of the road in the cover of deep darkness two nights later. Prior to setting out, Nikandros, Jord, Laurent, and Damen poured over the maps and the tax routes, and managed to pin down where the next would be. A small village not far from the camp, which hadn’t been hit in a few weeks.

“It means they’ll have more to offer. The Regent’s militia will come in, strip them bare, and walk away with a decent haul,” Nikandros said, his voice dripping with disdain. He gave Laurent a careful look, then said, “There will only be a few men, so they can easily skim from the top and the Regent will not mind.”

Jord gave some tips on how to get the best of them—having worked with many of the Regent’s men on their training. Laurent agreed, but also agreed that having the advantage of bows and arrows to strike them down from a distance before swords came into play was the right move. He was not as certain as Damen was about his skill, but he found it nearly impossible to refuse Damen when he asked something of him.

They took their place on low branches, both dressed in deep greens and browns to blend into the night. Laurent’s cape hood hid his light hair easily, and the leaves blocked them from view from the road. They had been waiting several hours, but Nikandros had already come back with word they were in the town, exactly as predicted. He seemed overly tense, more so than usual, but Damen brushed his worry off with an impatient hand, then ordered him and Jord to wait in the brush until they had the men subdued with arrows.

“Are you nervous?” Damen asked in a low whisper.

Laurent shook his head. “I am…still unsure I’ll be of any help, but I’ve been practising.”

“Nikandros told me you did not stop even in my absence.”

Laurent thumbed the string on his bow. “I…do not like to give myself to anything if it is not fully.”

He could see in the very faint light from the overhead stars, a smile creep across Damen’s face. “Yes. I have…come to see that about you. I…”

But there was no time to continue the conversation. They heard the horses first, and the drunken slurs of the men riding them. There were ten, at least, a single wagon hauling what they’d taken. Two horses, and most of them on foot. It would be easy to subdue them, if they had the right angle.

“Try not to hit the horses,” Laurent couldn’t help himself from saying.

Damen let out a tiny laugh as he adjusted his position, then nocked his arrow. “Of course, Roland. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The first man came into view, then the second, and Damen loosed his arrow. It struck true, hitting the thigh of the first man, and then he grabbed another and took down the second. Laurent shoved any nerves deep into the pit of his stomach, and hurried to follow.

They were able to take six of the ten men, and Nikandros and Jord managed the four left on the ground before the caravan was theirs. There was grain, mostly, and a few barrels of wine. A little gold, but the villagers across Vere had been bled dry, that even several week without raids left them poor.

Damen’s jaw was tense as they calculated what they’d won, then he and the others got to work, hiding the bodies of the men deep in the wood which would take the Regent’s other men a while to find them.

“We should camp here,” Damen said after a while on the road. “There’s no sense in exhausting ourselves now.”

Laurent was in no position to argue, so he and Jord tended the fire and their supplies whilst Nikandros and Damen went off to hunt for their supper.

“You provided accurate information,” Jord said as he stoked the fire.

Laurent raised a brow at him. “The cause was…worthy of it.”

Jord hummed, poking his stick into the fire. “I don’t know that Damen is who he says he is.” When Laurent blinked at him, Jord shrugged. “A Prince’s Guard. I don’t think he’s being truthful.”

Laurent sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be one to judge. Considering.” After a moment, “You don’t seem to mind so much. With Nikandros.”

At that, Jord flushed and turned his attention back to the fire. “I haven’t had a lot of affection for…people, in my years with the guard. It didn’t seem useful. But it’s different with him.”

Laurent bit his lip, trying to hide a smile, then said, “I suppose…I know what you mean.” Laurent could not be sure how he was feeling, but he knew something, fundamentally, had shifted. Perhaps it would not remain so. After all, he was prince of Vere and even after his brother’s return, falling for a guard was unthinkable.

And yet, perhaps he was not.

Which really posed more problems because Laurent could not envision any position Damen might hold that would allow them a future. It hurt. He closed his eyes and tried not to envision himself abdicating his title and leaving his country to live in the woods as a bandit a Damen’s side.

And he failed miserably.

*** 

The meal that night was delicious—as much as it was gamey and over-cooked from the spit over flames, but it was the nicest Laurent had felt in a while. He was at Damen’s side, watching across the fire as Jord and Nikandros spoke quietly, overcoming the differences in their language.

“You speak Veretian better than he does,” Laurent pointed out.

“It was something I…” Damen hesitated. “It was a diplomatic gesture, one that the Prince hoped I might use in the future. After he took the throne. Nikandros’ fate had not been decided then, and it was only after he was appointed Kyros of Delpha that it became pertinent he learn what was the mother-tongue of so many in his land.”

Laurent bit his lip, deciding it was best not to bring up the fact that he still believed Delfur belonged to Vere. A point of contention that was not worth arguing over. Not now. Not when he felt safe, like he was a million miles away from the harsh reality of the world, and his uncle.

“Do you really think we’ll defeat the Regent?” Laurent asked quietly.

Damen closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. “I believe the war in the North will end soon. I believe with the added troops from Patras, there will be victory, and King Auguste will return. And if we can damage the Regent’s militia and keep him weak, Auguste will have an easy victory.”

“Is that truly what you want?”

Damen scoffed. “For a fair king to sit on the throne in my neighbour’s country?” He quirked a smile at Laurent. “Yes, it is. I know what you believe about Akielos, but we are not as war-hungry as our enemies would have you believe. Peace is…desirable.”

“What else do you desire?” Laurent asked, unable to stop his mouth.

Damen’s smile softened, deepened, and he reached out, brushing the back of one knuckle along Laurent’s jaw—just the ghost of a touch before letting it fall away. “A few things.” It was a non-answer, but one Laurent was willing to accept. For now.

“Do you think they’ll be happy? Is there a future for him? For a man like Jord from such a low station, and a man like Nikandros, who rules a province?” Laurent knew the question was daring—telling. He knew he was showing his heart, giving it all away, but how could he help himself?

Damen didn’t look at him, but instead at his hands which he held together lightly between his knees. “I don’t know. I like to think so. I like to think the universe is kind to good men who deserve it. Who work hard, and fall in love. I think…I would not let station get in the way of a person who would take my heart…and treat it tenderly.”

Laurent pulled in a shaky breath, but nodded. “I…like to think that as well. Perhaps nothing more than a fantasy but…”

“Yes,” Damen said simply. Then he pushed himself up and straightened. “I should…go wash in the stream.”

Laurent did not argue with him, did not ask him to stay. He simply watched him walk away.

It was not until late that night when Laurent realised Damen hadn’t returned.

Nikandros and Jord were sleeping, in separate bedrolls, but close enough to touch. He crept round them carefully, and headed for the stream where he eventually found Damen, sat on a rock looking at the reflection of the half moon on the still waters.

He stood only a moment, but the line of tension in Damen’s shoulders told Laurent the other man was aware of his presence. He made no move to conceal his footsteps as he walked forward.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Damen asked when Laurent got close enough to hear him.

“I dropped off for a little while, but I knew you weren’t there and I…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Damen glanced over his shoulder, then held a hand out, beckoning Laurent close. When he was within reach, his large hand curled round Laurent’s hip and drew him in. Laurent gasped at the touch, but did not pull back, instead let himself be crowded into Damen’s side.

“I wanted this night to drag on,” Damen said. “To never end, so we can go on pretending it’s simple. To hunt and fish, sit by the fire, to warm myself with the heat in your eyes.” He turned, lifting his hand to Laurent’s cheek, and he cupped it, his thumb running along the edge of his jaw. “Were this a different life, I would be courting you right now. Not…having kept you prisoner, not having coerced you into sharing information…”

“I gave it all willingly,” Laurent said, letting his hand fall over Damen’s. He was overcome with the other words Damen had spoken, but he did what his mind was best at—he focussed. “I never felt prisoner.”

“I would have let you go,” Damen admitted. “Nikandros…was afraid. Has been afraid to trust you, but tonight proved you were not lying with the maps.”

Laurent closed his eyes slowly, then opened them. “I…did not trust you either. I still…I wonder,” he amended. “I wonder if maybe when this is all over, and my brother sits on the throne, Akielos will try and invade, to hit us where we are weakest.”

Damen swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Theomedes is a stubborn man, but not a cruel one. And Damianos…he has faced Auguste before.”

“I know,” Laurent said tightly, thinking of the scar his brother still bore.

“He found him a just and fair ruler. They each struck their blows, and perhaps they left lasting marks, but things changed that day.”

In more ways than one, Laurent knew. But he hadn’t lost his brother, and Auguste had come home braver for it.

“I wish things were different,” Laurent finally said. “I wish…to hear my proper name from your lips. I wish to feel your mouth on mine, to know that when we part ways…”

“It isn’t forever?” Damen offered. He then rose, putting his other hand to Laurent’s cheek, cradling his face between his grasp as though Laurent were something beautiful, precious, something to be treasured. “I don’t know what I can promise you, but you have my heart. Know that.”

Laurent felt his eyes closed, and the whispered, “Kiss me,” falling from his lips, helpless to the want.

Damen did not deny him. And as their mouths met—soft, a little hesitant, but heady and wonderful—Laurent realised that not once had Damen denied him. Not once.

“…messenger,” came the voice from beyond the trees, and the two of them sprang apart as though burnt. They looked into each other’s eyes, knowing the moment was lost, and then they raced back to camp where a rider was dismounting his horse, looking pale, exhausted, but triumphant.

Damen raced to Nikandros’ side, and he held his hand out for the message. The stranger held it out, and he unfolded it, read, and for just a brief moment, there was heartbreak on his face. Then his shoulders squared and he turned to look directly at Laurent.

“Auguste is returned. He has reached the capital, and the Regent is in his custody.”

Laurent’s eyes went wide with panic. “I…I must…”

“You must go. Both of you. Take the horses,” Damen said.

Laurent took a step back, his eyes flickering to Jord who looked devastated, but determined. “Damen…I…”

“I understand,” Damen said. He crossed the distance between them and backed Laurent into the shadow of several trees. It was privacy for themselves, but also for Jord and Nikandros who had the same thing to lose. “I know you must go. Just know I’ll…never forget you. And if the universe is kind…”

“Yes,” Laurent said, unwilling to hear even the whisper of a promise if he couldn’t trust it would come true. “Damen,” he said, and then was kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

When he finally pulled away, he used what little bravery and strength he had to reach the horse where Jord was waiting. He mounted, mind on Auguste, refusing to look back. He could not take the heartbreak if he did.

It was only as they were nearly an hour down the road, their horses at a full gallop, that he realised Damen had stopped using his false name. And the look in his eyes as he said goodbye.

It became suddenly, terrifyingly obvious why Damen had let him go so easy.

He had known.

The entire time…he had known.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, there's a twist!!

“I have a gift for you, of sorts.”

Laurent glanced up at the voice in the doorway, and in spite of himself—in spite of the morose feeling in his belly which had been lodged there since his return to Arles—he smiled. Auguste stood there, war-weary, too thin still, but looking better rested than when Laurent first set eyes on him. He had his arms crossed over his chest, looking more at home in the tight Veretian laces than he did in his battle armour. There was a new scar on his cheek—pink and puffed, soon to become a familiar part of his face. He was soft, looking at Laurent, even if there was a haunted look in his eyes now, from what he’d seen on the battlefield.

But the war had been won. The Regent had been tried, found guilty, and executed. Auguste resumed the throne, and the villages which had been ravaged by the Regent’s militia were being given care and reparations. Parades had been marched in Auguste’s name, “All hail the king,” ringing through towns.

And Laurent had been thanked, privately and quietly, for his work.

The bandits hadn’t been heard from since, and that’s what was causing Laurent’s pain. It was likely Damen had returned to his post, wherever that was. Nikandros had sent word to Jord that he was back in Delpha, and Laurent supposed his head guard was corresponding with the Akielon. He was not yet brave enough to ask about Damen, and Jord was not brave enough to bring him up.

“I do not need any gifts,” Laurent said softly as he rose from his desk.

Auguste raised his brows. “It’s…less of a gift, and more of an…offer. But for now, I’d like to you accompany me to the dais. We’re welcoming guests.”

Laurent let out a tired sigh. “Auguste…”

“The Akielon royal family is joining us for the week. To celebrate the victory of Vere, and your name day,” Auguste said, eyeing his brother carefully.

Laurent’s heart jumped into his throat. If Damen truly was a guard for Damianos, there was every chance he would be there. And it would be the greatest torture, being unable to do a thing about it. Laurent was certain, at this point, Damen had known who he was, but he had no proof. Would he be sold out after this? Would Damen have told the crown prince of Laurent’s work with the bandits?

“I’m not sure I…”

“Please,” Auguste said. “I received word that Prince Damianos himself wanted to celebrate our victory, and he personally requested you be there to greet him.” 

It was only by Laurent’s sheer force of will that he managed to give away nothing, and rise to his feet with only a slight tremble of his fingers to betray him. His heart was thumping against his ribs, however, and he felt trepidation with every step as he followed Auguste down the corridors, flanked by guards, to the main steps of the palace.

It was a bright day, warm, and Laurent could hear the faint footfalls of horses and the rumble of caravans off in the distance.

The Akielons approached.

Laurent closed his eyes, felt his breath stutter in his chest as the gates opened.

The Akielon procession came with their distinct simplicity. Very little fanfare. The guards rode on either side of the royal caravan, and a servant was quick to open the doors. Laurent saw King Theomedes exit first, adorned in his white chiton, and royal purple cape. His gold lion pins, the crest of the royal house, pinned the fabric to his shoulder, glinting in the sun. The laurel wreath crowned his head, the gold sharp and bright against his dark hair.

Laurent had to look away. He kept his gaze fixed on a point in front of him, so as Damianos exited the caravan, and the two approached, Laurent saw nothing more than the expanse of their ankles and calves, wrapped in the leather cords of their sandals.

“My brother of Akielos,” he heard Auguste say.

“Our brother of Vere,” King Theomedes’ voice rumbled, heavy with age and his time spent on the throne. “I would present my son, Crown Prince Damianos.”

“It is a pleasure,” Auguste said. There was a shuffle. They were greeting formally, but Laurent kept his gaze fixed downward. Then Auguste cleared his throat. “And my brother, whom you requested. Prince Laurent.”

This was it. Laurent would look up into the prince’s face and see the truth, see the knowledge in his eyes that his guard had given him. The crimes he committed. The…

His breath caught in his throat. For he wasn’t staring into the cold eyes of a prince who wished to use knowledge against him. No. He was staring into the soft, smiling eyes of the Empire’s most talented archer. A man he’d laughed with, and kissed. A man whose face had been shrouded by a green hood, and had scoured the countryside to help save Vere from the Regent.

It was Damen.

His hand was outstretched toward Laurent, and helpless, Laurent took it. “Your highness,” Damen muttered, bringing Laurent’s hand to his lips, pressing a dry, chaste kiss to his knuckles. “I have looked forward to this meeting for…quite some time.”

Laurent forced his tongue to work. “Prince Damianos.” It was meant to be a statement, but it came out more like a question, and Laurent took a breath. “Why are you here? Why…why?”

“I have come to ask your brother permission to formally court you,” Damen said, his voice rising enough to be heard. “A good match, and my heart given to a good man whom I plan to court. With all the grace and courtesy he deserves.”

Laurent’s eyes flickered to Auguste’s, who was smiling softly, knowingly. He had known. For how long, Laurent could not be sure, but it was out. The secret was out. Everyone here was now laid bare.

“I believe my brother is speechless from flattery,” Auguste said with a laugh in his voice. “I do not…foresee any objections. Is that right, Laurent?”

Laurent was profoundly aware of his hand still clenched in Damen’s. “I…” He cleared his throat. “No. If Akielos would approve…”

“Akielos gives our blessing,” Theomedes said, not sounding entirely pleased, but Damen’s smile was growing.

He stepped forward, tugging Laurent to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek so very near his ear. “I told you the universe would find a way.”

“The whole time. You were…”

“I was,” Damen affirmed.

“And you knew.”

Damen pulled back, putting his hand to Laurent’s cheek. “I knew. I knew, and I wanted to protect you from anyone who might use you to further their own ends. And I loved you. By the time you left, I loved you.”

“Oh,” Laurent said, and then in spite of himself, he smiled. “The I suppose I was the only one who was…uninformed.”

“I would have told you,” Damen insisted. “That night, had it not been for the messenger. I would have said.”

Laurent nodded, then put his hand over Damen’s, which was still touching his cheek. “I accept,” he murmured.

Damen grinned. “I had hoped you would.” Then he tugged Laurent in close preparing for their first kiss as two princes betrothed. Laurent’s eyes shut, his lips parting and…

*** 

“Laurent. What…”

Spinning in the computer chair, Laurent’s sharp blue eyes fell on the figure in the doorway. His hand was still paused over the mousepad the laptop screen showing all the evidence Damen needed to see.

There was a profound silence, and then Damen’s cheeks darkened. “Laurent, that’s not…”

“What I think it is?” Laurent offered. “You mean to tell me this isn’t hours upon hours of you writing us into fairy tales? You mean to tell me I didn't just read thirteen thousand words of us as Robin Hoods?”

Damen cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well…I mean…”

“Are you telling me that this account here on this website with the user name, LaurelLamen with fifty works featuring historical AUs starring the rulers of Vere and Akielos falling in love in a hundred different ways?” Laurent slowly closed the lid on the laptop, and stalked across the well-polished, wood floors of their high-rise penthouse. A modern palace, for the modern royalty.

He saw his wedding ring glint in a patch of sunlight as he passed through it, and he smiled as he lifted his hands onto Damen’s shoulders.

“Why?” he asked.

Damen swallowed. “Why…what?”

“Why write us like that? Over and over? I mean, I’m no fool, Damianos. I’ve seen the websites, I know that people do that…what’s it called? Shipping?”

Damen’s flush deepened. “I am never going to live this down, am I?”

Laurent’s grin was wide, bright. “Does Nik know about this?”

“Oh my god, no. And don’t you dare say a word,” Damen said, grabbing Laurent by the wrists and spinning him, backing him to the sofa where he let himself fall back. Damen went with him, bracketing his face on both sides with his large hands. “Promise me.”

“What’s in it for me?” Laurent asked.

Damen answered him with a slow, soft, deep kiss.

*** 

“Well, I suppose that’s some incentive,” Laurent said, nearly an hour later, sweaty and satiated deep in his bones. They were both naked now, Laurent curled into Damen’s side, his fingers drawing slow circles along his sternum.

Damen sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I do it,” he admitted. “I think because…because things between us at the start were…it was hard. Tense. We hated each other until we didn’t, and sometimes I like to envision other worlds where it wasn’t so hard.”

Laurent softened, taking Damen by the chin, turning his face to kiss him. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” Damen asked, a little shy.

Laurent chuckled. “My fantasies might not be so strong that I feel compelled to write and share them with the rest of the world…”

“No one knows it’s me,” Damen complained.

Laurent laughed again, kissing the side of Damen’s jaw. “And I shall not tell a soul, I promise. But I do…I do understand. There are moments I wish I could erase the darkness of our past. But it got us here, and I wouldn’t be able to guarantee that if we’d had a different beginning, we’d still be here today. And that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”

Damen shifted fully onto his side, letting his fingers trace a line down Damen’s face, curling under his chin, tilting his head to kiss him again. He bit Laurent’s lip gently, letting it fall from his teeth with a slow drag. “I like to think we would. No matter what.”

“You like to think the Universe would have gotten us here no matter what?” Laurent quoted with a cheeky smile.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Damen grumbled, and shoved his face into Laurent’s neck.

Laughing, Laurent buried his fingers in Damen’s curls. “You don’t, though. I have proof. Hundreds of thousands of words imaging our start, over and over and over.” He pushed at Damen’s shoulder until he backed up, and met his gaze seriously. “I love you, you know. So much. I would have loved you in every single one of those worlds. Nothing would change that.” 

Damen sighed, and pushed his nose against Laurent’s, nuzzling it. “Thank you.”

“I was wondering, though,” Laurent said thoughtfully, and Damen pulled back with a sigh, his brow raised in suspicion. Laurent tried to hide his grin as he tapped his chin. “Do you take constructive criticism? Because there were moments your writing was a little…sloppy.”

Laurent let out a shriek when Damen snarled, then pounced, pinning him to the sofa. The shrieks turned into laugher, as Damen pressed sucking kisses to his neck. The laughter turned into a soft, moaning pant, as the kisses lightened, then moved to his mouth to deepen. Damen’s hand began to wander, lower—lower.

And for the moment, all thoughts of other worlds, and other lifetimes, were lost in the eclipse of their love here. Now. Present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So mxlfoydraco and I have talked about this over and over. This is literal canon, Damen and his fanfic ways. I couldn't help myself, I had too much fun with this idea. Though part of me now wants to write a proper robin hood au. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this little bit of fun. Thanks for reading xx


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